hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2007-01-19 11:57 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2007-01-19 11:57 am
Entry tags:
FNL - Fact is Only What You Believe (PG)
When I think of Friday Night Lights I think of my love for live Lyle Lovett songs and Whiskeytown, so it's odd that when it came time to write this I could only think of my recent obssessive nature over Jack Johnson's 'It's All Understood'. Go figure.
This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musesfool, who caught me on the right day at the right time and let me babble in her LJ, and for antheia for all her cheerleading.
Friday Night Lights
Tim Riggins/Jason Street, Smash Williams, Lyla Garrity
Pre-series, general series spoilers
Fact is Only What You Believe
When Lyla gives him the photograph he just stares at her. "What am I supposed to do with this?" Tim asks. The paper is slick and cool between his fingers; he puts a big thumb print right over his own face.
Lyla shakes her head, glossy ponytail swaying from side-to-side. "It's a photograph, Tim," she says as though he really is that slow.
Tim's cocks his head to the side, hair falling across his eyes. "Is it now? Really? And how do these photograph-type-things work?"
Lyla laughs, bouncing on her heels as she slaps his arm playfully. Her touch brands him the way his granddad used to mark his cattle. "You're supposed to keep it. It's a memento."
"Keep it where?" Tim prods.
"Wherever you keep photographs," she says.
"I don't keep photographs," he protests as she walks away.
"Yeah, well, keep that one," she calls back over her shoulder.
Tim frowns even as he looks down at the picture in his hand. He's grinning, his head so far to the side that it's almost on Six's shoulder. He must've been completely shit-faced, he doesn't remember taking any pictures with Jason recently.
*
He's not really thinking about it when he puts up the picture of him and Street in his football locker. He just does it because it's the only place he has to put it. He's not gonna take it home, because, fuck it, it'll get lost, or he'll spill beer on it, or it'll wind up falling behind his dresser or in the trash or something. Putting the photo up in his regular locker isn't even a thought because he doesn't remember the combination to that locker anymore, which is what happens when the rally girls do all your homework.
*
Tim doesn't have photographs. He has school pictures from kindergarten through eleventh grade of a boy who was once toothless and smiling and has become increasingly more sullen -- or pissy, as Billy likes to call him.
Yeah, Billy likes to say he's full of piss and vinegar. Tim likes to pop the tab on another can of PBR and go back to watching fly-fishing on cable.
When Tim's having a shitty day at practice, or Tyra's being even more Tyra than normal, she says he's sullen and surly and all kinds of words that he has to look up when nobody's looking. He's only done this once, but he's done it. Mostly though, Tim doesn't care. Mostly Tim just cares about ball and beer and Texas and Six and getting laid as much as possible.
He's a boy, it's what boys do.
*
The photograph is up in his locker, but most days he doesn't even notice it's there. Not really. It's just this shiny, perfect image that flashes in his periphery when he's getting dressed, or when he's getting undressed, or when he's trying to find his shoulder pads and his extra pair of socks. He doesn't have to look at the photo when he's got the real thing streaking around the locker room with his towel on top of his head and yelling at the top of his lungs. Street's an idiot sometimes. It's why they get on so well.
*
"What's that you got there, Riggins?" Smash mocks, trying to look over Tim's shoulder into his locker. "That your girlfriend? 'Cause you know, she didn't look like that from the back when I was banging her last night."
Tim elbows Smash hard in the ribs. "Shut up, Williams."
"You gonna make me? 'Cause you know the Smash is down anytime anyplace to kick your punk ass."
Street's voice breaks it up like always. "When you girls've finished bitching and flirting, you wanna get out on the field and maybe play some ball? "
"Aw, hell no," Smash protests, backpedaling out of Tim's space. "Ain't no way I'm trying to bone Riggins' greasy ass."
"That's not what you said last night," Tim mocks to Smash's retreating form.
"You girls wanna take this outside?" the Coach hollers from his office.
Tim slams his locker shut just as Jason wraps an arm around his neck and yanks him along. "Stop flirting with the other girls, Riggins." Street's mouth is right by Tim's ear, his breath tickling the shell of Tim's ear. "You know how jealous I get about stuff like that."
Tim snorts and ducks out of Jason's hold. "You know I love you best," he mocks, slapping Jason on the ass playfully.
"You better," Six shoots back as they push through the locker room doors and head onto the field.
*
Tim's semi-drying his hair after practice. His head is covered by a white towel even while wet strands drip onto his shoulders. For the record, his hair isn't greasy -- it's just not washed regularly.
"So, who's this girl you got up your locker?" Street's voice penetrates the scratchy cotton confines moments before he's shouldering Tim away from the front of his locker. "You know what the coach said about those porn photos."
Tim peeks out from underneath the towel. "She's a real pretty girl," he says easily watching Jason's profile as he studies the photograph. "A little mouthy sometimes, but she's got this crazy arm. I think she's gonna be the first girl to play pro. She's gonna set me up for life -- I'll be a kept man."
Jason blinks, once, twice, and then he turns to Tim with this small smile. "You put me up in your locker."
Tim shrugs, because, well, damn. He didn't think it was that big of a deal. "Not you -- us."
Jason raises an eyebrow, but his voice drops off. "You put up our picture, huh? What're you, my girlfriend?"
Tim snorts. "Boyfriend, I prefer boyfriend."
Jason blinks and there's a moment where Tim knows something is happening. He can't explain it, but he knows it's there. It's probably been there the whole time. And then Wallingford starts hollering at Reyes about riding his ass to the Tastee Freeze, and the moment is gone.
Tim pulls his towel off his head. "Six, you gonna let me get dressed or you gonna trot me out like a prized pony?"
Street laughs it off, and Tim knows it's really over. "I dunno about a pony, maybe more like an ornery mule," Jason says, and Tim swats at him automatically.
"It's a good picture," Jason says conversationally before side-stepping over to his own locker. "You should get me a copy, too."
Tim nods, licking at dry lips. "'kay."
He freezes when he realizes that Jason's looking at his mouth. He brushes his tongue along his bottom lip just to check, and Street's eyes track his every motion.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it's not over after all.
Maybe they're just getting started.
-end-
This is for
musesfool, who caught me on the right day at the right time and let me babble in her LJ, and for antheia for all her cheerleading.Friday Night Lights
Tim Riggins/Jason Street, Smash Williams, Lyla Garrity
Pre-series, general series spoilers
When Lyla gives him the photograph he just stares at her. "What am I supposed to do with this?" Tim asks. The paper is slick and cool between his fingers; he puts a big thumb print right over his own face.
Lyla shakes her head, glossy ponytail swaying from side-to-side. "It's a photograph, Tim," she says as though he really is that slow.
Tim's cocks his head to the side, hair falling across his eyes. "Is it now? Really? And how do these photograph-type-things work?"
Lyla laughs, bouncing on her heels as she slaps his arm playfully. Her touch brands him the way his granddad used to mark his cattle. "You're supposed to keep it. It's a memento."
"Keep it where?" Tim prods.
"Wherever you keep photographs," she says.
"I don't keep photographs," he protests as she walks away.
"Yeah, well, keep that one," she calls back over her shoulder.
Tim frowns even as he looks down at the picture in his hand. He's grinning, his head so far to the side that it's almost on Six's shoulder. He must've been completely shit-faced, he doesn't remember taking any pictures with Jason recently.
He's not really thinking about it when he puts up the picture of him and Street in his football locker. He just does it because it's the only place he has to put it. He's not gonna take it home, because, fuck it, it'll get lost, or he'll spill beer on it, or it'll wind up falling behind his dresser or in the trash or something. Putting the photo up in his regular locker isn't even a thought because he doesn't remember the combination to that locker anymore, which is what happens when the rally girls do all your homework.
Tim doesn't have photographs. He has school pictures from kindergarten through eleventh grade of a boy who was once toothless and smiling and has become increasingly more sullen -- or pissy, as Billy likes to call him.
Yeah, Billy likes to say he's full of piss and vinegar. Tim likes to pop the tab on another can of PBR and go back to watching fly-fishing on cable.
When Tim's having a shitty day at practice, or Tyra's being even more Tyra than normal, she says he's sullen and surly and all kinds of words that he has to look up when nobody's looking. He's only done this once, but he's done it. Mostly though, Tim doesn't care. Mostly Tim just cares about ball and beer and Texas and Six and getting laid as much as possible.
He's a boy, it's what boys do.
The photograph is up in his locker, but most days he doesn't even notice it's there. Not really. It's just this shiny, perfect image that flashes in his periphery when he's getting dressed, or when he's getting undressed, or when he's trying to find his shoulder pads and his extra pair of socks. He doesn't have to look at the photo when he's got the real thing streaking around the locker room with his towel on top of his head and yelling at the top of his lungs. Street's an idiot sometimes. It's why they get on so well.
"What's that you got there, Riggins?" Smash mocks, trying to look over Tim's shoulder into his locker. "That your girlfriend? 'Cause you know, she didn't look like that from the back when I was banging her last night."
Tim elbows Smash hard in the ribs. "Shut up, Williams."
"You gonna make me? 'Cause you know the Smash is down anytime anyplace to kick your punk ass."
Street's voice breaks it up like always. "When you girls've finished bitching and flirting, you wanna get out on the field and maybe play some ball? "
"Aw, hell no," Smash protests, backpedaling out of Tim's space. "Ain't no way I'm trying to bone Riggins' greasy ass."
"That's not what you said last night," Tim mocks to Smash's retreating form.
"You girls wanna take this outside?" the Coach hollers from his office.
Tim slams his locker shut just as Jason wraps an arm around his neck and yanks him along. "Stop flirting with the other girls, Riggins." Street's mouth is right by Tim's ear, his breath tickling the shell of Tim's ear. "You know how jealous I get about stuff like that."
Tim snorts and ducks out of Jason's hold. "You know I love you best," he mocks, slapping Jason on the ass playfully.
"You better," Six shoots back as they push through the locker room doors and head onto the field.
Tim's semi-drying his hair after practice. His head is covered by a white towel even while wet strands drip onto his shoulders. For the record, his hair isn't greasy -- it's just not washed regularly.
"So, who's this girl you got up your locker?" Street's voice penetrates the scratchy cotton confines moments before he's shouldering Tim away from the front of his locker. "You know what the coach said about those porn photos."
Tim peeks out from underneath the towel. "She's a real pretty girl," he says easily watching Jason's profile as he studies the photograph. "A little mouthy sometimes, but she's got this crazy arm. I think she's gonna be the first girl to play pro. She's gonna set me up for life -- I'll be a kept man."
Jason blinks, once, twice, and then he turns to Tim with this small smile. "You put me up in your locker."
Tim shrugs, because, well, damn. He didn't think it was that big of a deal. "Not you -- us."
Jason raises an eyebrow, but his voice drops off. "You put up our picture, huh? What're you, my girlfriend?"
Tim snorts. "Boyfriend, I prefer boyfriend."
Jason blinks and there's a moment where Tim knows something is happening. He can't explain it, but he knows it's there. It's probably been there the whole time. And then Wallingford starts hollering at Reyes about riding his ass to the Tastee Freeze, and the moment is gone.
Tim pulls his towel off his head. "Six, you gonna let me get dressed or you gonna trot me out like a prized pony?"
Street laughs it off, and Tim knows it's really over. "I dunno about a pony, maybe more like an ornery mule," Jason says, and Tim swats at him automatically.
"It's a good picture," Jason says conversationally before side-stepping over to his own locker. "You should get me a copy, too."
Tim nods, licking at dry lips. "'kay."
He freezes when he realizes that Jason's looking at his mouth. He brushes his tongue along his bottom lip just to check, and Street's eyes track his every motion.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it's not over after all.
Maybe they're just getting started.
-end-
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